A change in the wind
by Eraldo Lawliet
Summary: Fourteen solid years in that damned living hell. And finally, the moment had come. A glimpse into Rodolphus Lestrange's mind the night Voldemort decided to break into Azkaban to rescue his Death Eaters.


**_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Every right belongs to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros._**

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"_The Dark Lord will rise again, Crouch! Throw us into Azkaban; we will wait! He will rise again and will come for us, he will reward us beyond any of his other supporters! We alone were faithful! We alone tried to find him!"_

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_Shouts and screams were still echoing in his mind, even now… When weren't they, though?... How long it had been since the last time he was truly conscious, he did not know… Sometimes it seemed as if it was yesterday that those soul-sucking demons had grabbed and pulled them away from the trial, and thrown them, separately and mercilessly, into these hideous cells… And sometimes, that memory felt like centuries ago… Could it have been a couple of weeks? … Or fifty years? … He had no idea… He no longer kept track of the time…_

_But there was already a change in the wind… Something was about to change… Soon, it seemed…_

All of a sudden, Rodolphus Lestrange woke with a shudder. As he sat up on the decayed wooden bed, his blank stare roamed the dampened dark cell where he was bound with for life without a single sign of recognition in the depths of those deep, dark sockets that had once been his fierce, shrewd eyes.

Azkaban had ruined him in the way it had done with many of its victims. His thickset, muscular build had been greatly diminished, leaving him look not much different from a skeleton, which only matched his face completely, where the waxy white skin was stretched out so tightly over the bones that it looked like a skull; and it definitely did not help when that horrible skull was surrounded by a matted, elbow-length tangle which was supposed to be his once elegant, good-looking, dark hair. As a matter of fact, the only thing that might make him distinguishable from a corpse was his cruel dark eyes, for though sunken and empty they appeared, there was still a faint glint of something in their depths that still lingered on, refusing to die out until the last hope was destroyed.

That something was his pride, resoluteness and allegiance. The eldest Lestrange held on dearly to them to keep his faith, and to live, even just another day. He held on to the thought that one day, their rightful Master would return, stronger and more powerful than he ever had been. All of this was naught but a test – a test of allegiance, and when they were through with it, they would be rewarded beyond any other. Not even for a second since after the Dark Lord's disappearance had Rodolphus ever believed that he was truly defeated. His Cause was so right, so noble; and he was so great, so powerful to be beaten by a one-year-old brat. No, whatever they said, he believed his Master would rise again once more. This was a haunted thought, and those dementors could not suck it out of him, but it gave him what he needed: the will to live on, to await the time when the Dark Lord returned to power and set them free. That day would come, he knew it.

_And he was right. _

For a long moment, the skinny ghost-like man sat still in the darkness, wondering why he was awake. Because, by the tiny little gleam of sanity left inside his twisted, nearly-maddened mind, he knew _something_ had woken him tonight. Something different from the shrieks of other prisoners in their sleep, or the sound of long, slow, rattling breaths of those disgusting monstrous Azkaban guards, or even the screams echoing in his mind. Something which brought the alarming sensation of familiarity, like home…

And then pain struck him, so suddenly and intensely that he thought his whole body was going to explode with its tension. But at the same time, it cleared his vision. He had not had this feeling for years; in fact, he thought he had forgotten how to feel properly as a human until now. Like a slow-motioned movie, his gaze dropped down to his left forearm, while his right hand made an attempt of pulling the filthy sleeve up, revealing his bare dark-tanned skin. And there it was. The Dark Mark, jet black and clear as ever, burning itself against the Death Eater's flesh.

_It had come, at last._

His yellow teeth were bared in an ugly grin as he slowly rose to his feet and came to stand right below the window of his cell, peering through the bars to the outside. The moon had been covered by a thick clouded sky, giving way to night's darkness, but as Rodolphus watched, the wind sped up suddenly and there was a parting in the cloud that allowed a ray of moonlight to shine through. For the first time in fourteen years, he was aware of the time. For the first time, he was aware of his surroundings. The day he awaited had finally come. In that one fleeting moment, he took in a deep breath of the sharp cold night's air, finding stillness at his mind.

_And then…_

To his right, there was a raucous scream of laughter – a harsh female voice, by the sound of it – and it echoed loudly, breaking the deadly silence of the place into pieces. It had been too long since he last heard that tone, but there was no mistake about it, he could recognize that laugh anywhere. So Bellatrix had also felt it. Very soon, Rodolphus was laughing with his wife, his voice, too, sounded very croaky, as though he had long since lost the habit of using it, but he caught up very quickly. It was only seconds later when others joined them, first his younger brother to his left, then the laughter only spread and grew louder and wilder throughout Azkaban fortress. It was as if the whole bunch of prisoners inside that living hell had all become mad at that instant. The dementors were confused, for the first time. They could not comprehend the cause which started the undying flame of satisfaction in their victims' mind at that moment, and they could do nothing to put out that inflamed fire.

The Dark Lord's Death Eaters were joyful, for they knew that, at last, their Master was back, and he was coming for them… There was nothing the Ministry, or anyone, could do to stop Him. _Nothing_.

None of them needed to voice it out loud. They understood the meaning behind those laughters. Some of them had actually turned insane by Azkaban, but the rest of them… Those who were strong enough to fight on, to wait for this day…

_Now was the time their fruition was reached. _

_Salvation was nigh._

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**_Author's Note: Thank you for reading my work. Hope you enjoy it! A few reviews would be nice. _:)**


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